Men of Courage
by beachchick3
Summary: Pre-1984- A brief moment where the drums of War were beginning, the spark of those who chose to Rebel, and the man that inspired them to do it. ENJOY! Wrote this for my little sister's Honors English Class.


**I thank you on reading this! I give you my gratitude! **

**In a fictional town of Estovaria in Eurasia.**

**Enjoy and be inspired! **

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Men of Courage

**I**n a time of war and strife, Estovaria is the prize capital of a warring nation. Its inhabitant's mere pond pieces in the game called war. A stentorian speaker commends the people of Estovaria with practiced words, "On the eve of battle there is no turning back."

At precisely three o'clock in the evening it is the Glory Hour. That means the government rallying people to releasing sons, husbands, and fathers to the war effort, "There is no place for cowards. A soldier should have prowess, and not be a renegade who turns his back on the cause. Do not be apprehensive," the voice coaxed people out of the shops and houses.

The speaker bellows, "Join together brothers in the golden glory of altruistic mind and heart."

The plebian crowd cheered, "For those who look upon battle and shiver with the thoughts of truculent woes, then I beseech you that you are in remiss. There is potent clemency in war."

Solomon Arbaros scrunched his nose, and walked away from the square. He had enough of all this war talk, "To embark into war makes men benefactors to the prosperity of peace in one's country." He left before he started cursing the voice with a raised fist. Solomon Arbaros was once a soldier fighting for his country. He used to be one of the whooping young men that chanted along with the Glory Hour, he still remembered the mantra, courage, courage, take courage young son.

He stumbled past a group of young men that parted to him in elderly respect. Solomon watched them, shrugging away thoughts of telling the truth. He watched them and the naïve way they saw the world. To top it all off the officious government passed out promises like free candy.

There was only one possibility the government could give you; you would never come back the same.

It all changed, and now he didn't know what he believed in anymore. These Glory Hours were virulent speeches that raped the innocence right out of these children made soldiers. To give up one's life so someone else could live, what _crap _were they feeding these people?

"Give me a break," Solomon muttered as he plodded in the muck to his cottage on the outside of the capital. He trudged away where the grass grew long, and was a stark difference from the town-homes and commercialized shops, "As if giving up everything I own is not enough."

Unlike the others, Solomon had no one, and he liked it that way.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and Solomon perched himself on his wooden fence. It was no easy feat since it took him three times. Solomon was getting old. He inched his weight higher fighting to suppress the stream of curses that threatened to become rampant if he missed one more darn time. He traced the cracks on his hands finishing at the gnarled arthritis stumps he called fingers.

Where was his train of thought… oh yes, life without having to worry about anyone. It was nice. He had no one to fuss over, no one to fuss over him, and most importantly no one to die for. Solomon accepted that he was not the first nor last man to die this way, and that gave him some comfort. The nice cool wind caressed his neck and arms, and then it happened.

"Ol' Man Solomon!" He turned around struggling with his protruding back, and phlegmatic limbs. He failed at turning all the way, so instead he just huffed trying to maintain his integrity, "Yes, I hear you but I can't… Get over here where I can see you."

It was not only one person, but two… and a half.

"Mr. Arbaros, it is very nice to meet you."

"Is it now? What do you want, you with the government or something?"

"No," said the sonorous voice, and continued, "My name is Bernidaius. I came to see how your day was."

He had a strong war name; it was Solomon's grandfather's name. He looked in his thirties, had a stern jaw, and high cheekbones that some would call handsome. His clothes looked pressed so he must be a government or bonds man. Either way he was going to leave the same way he had come, empty-handed.

"Do you want money or something; because everything I have I gave to the government."

"No, we came to visit. This is my wife, Elishea," he came with his wife, and a small boy.

She gave Solomon her hand, but he stared at it not wanting to pass on his soiled work hand to the nice ladies clean one. Elishea had olive-toned skin, a sinuous form, and rare dark eyes seeing that everyone around here was fair skinned, blue-eyed, and more on the emaciated side. If he wasn't so chivalrous he would say how come she was so pretty, but of course she already had a man.

It was mostly the man that talked, and talked he did. He asked Solomon how he was doing. If he liked it out here? What he was up to the past couple of days? Solomon had only one response to that, "Why the hell do you wanna know?"

"Do you have everything you need? It can get cold out here at night."

"I'm fine," Solomon dug his fingers into the wood, "why all the questions?"

Bernidaius spoke without thinking, "If you ever need anything I am not too far, just down Vieyna Street if you ever want to come by for a chat, or something to eat." Solomon was ready to give a brash retort, but his eye caught on the play sword in the boy's hand. Solomon thought, poor Bernidaius little did he know that the government had another soldier in the making.

Elishea face became thoughtful and added, "I can make whatever you want."

"How very kind of you," Solomon gave a smile but it did not reach his eyes. How loquacious I am today, thought Solomon_, _being alone does that to you. "If you need us," Bernidaius began. Solomon finished, "Then I can find you, I know you told me enough times." He spit out the saliva that accumulated in his mouth, "Are you going to introduce me to the boy soldier or what?"

"We don't support the war," there was strong antipathy in the man's words.

Solomon's eyebrows rose, "So, you say you don't support the war," he looked more kindly on the little boy asking him, "you gonna be the exception when the government asks you to fight."

The little boy named Arthur piped up, "I wanna be a Liberationist like my dad," he brandished his sword at an invisible opponent, "the war is all but lies and poison!"

Well is that not something. Liberationists were the men that planned to end the war altogether, everyone knew that. He was surprisingly pleased that today he finally got to meet one, in person.

"Be careful who you tell that to little soldier, even the fields have ears," Solomon cautioned to the not only the boy, but also to the young couple. "We trust you," Bernidaius elucidated every word, "you are our friend." Friend, Solomon savored the word, "anyone that is against war is a friend of mine, and anyone that teaches that wars are lies and poison is right in my book." Solomon edged off the fence and onto his feet, "Like I always used to say, war is the death to innocence."

"I remember," Bernidaius whispered to himself.

"How about that meal you promised me," Solomon lent out his arm to Bernidaius wife. Elishea was charmed, and took his arm in confidence, "I thought you were never going to ask." Bernidaius watched Solomon; the old man that had inspired him to lead the Liberationist against the government's war. He did so much more than inspire him.

Bernidaius hoped to spark change in order to save the innocence for his son, and generations to come. What a curse it was. A curse to see the man that inspired millions could not even remember what happened the day before? His father had the forgetting illness and it came about the time little Arthur was born. It was downhill from then, and he would leave the house in an instant to return to the cottage that no longer stood. How could he possibly forget his hero? His father was his hero, and he was blessed to know him while he was whole. Bernidaius would remember for the both of them. His father, Solomon Arbaros, taught him how to discern the truth right before everyone's eyes, and to try to amend the fractures that caused others to lose their humanity. For without humanity, how could they dare call themselves humans?

"Bernie," Solomon yelled over his shoulder, and for a moment Bernidaius was a child again.

Solomon gave Bernie the look, and an ultimatum, "Well, are you staying there, or are you coming?"

"Yeah," Bernie hummed, "I'm coming father," and with that he followed after Solomon just like he used to, and always would. Who knew one man could make all the difference?


End file.
